One Shot Of Bourbon
by WhisperDreams
Summary: Love is a fickle thing. Then again, when you add former commitments, lust, and prejeduce, you are just asking for trouble. And one night of fun is enough to ruin all that you have tried to achieve... [bobbyxjohn]
1. Chapter 1

One Shot of Bourbon

A/N: Forgive me for formatting problems, this is my first posting. If you do not understand something, either drop me an email, review, or wait until I update for it will probably be covered. I hate OOCness, so if you catch me committing an act that heinous, please inform me. Other than that, enjoy. 'R' rating is for possible future content.

Remy downed another shot and smacked his glass on the dingy table with a thunk. The little Southern belle before him incoherently rambled on and on as he made a farce of paying attention. Remy gave up trying a couple minutes ago to understand what she was saying through the pleasant haze the alcohol gave him. Her buzzing voice stopped assailing his ears as two long lanky arms encircled her covered shoulders. The possessor of the arms slowly lowered his charming mouth to her ear and whispered something inaudible to the Cajun studying the flaws in his glass. Remy cocked an eyebrow as the pretty mouth moved away from the belle's ear and left the poor girl a blush that the poor lighting barely hid. Piercing blue eyes smiled into the Cajun's crimson ones as that pretty mouth said, "I'm terrible sorry to interrupt your little chat," (the way he said it implied that he knew Remy wasn't listening), "but I was just wondering if any of you had seen Allerdyce. It wouldn't do for him to put this sorry place out of its miserable existence."

The little belle shifted in her seat. Plainly she was uncomfortable with any mention of 'him'. She plaintively whined, "But Bobby, why must you go searching for _him._ Aren't Ah good enough for you? Besides, Logan said he'd evisserkate that punk if he ever caught wind of him acting out of line." Remy noticed the whine being replaced by adoration as soon as the word 'Logan' left her black lipsticked lips. He wanted to laugh. The girl couldn't even properly say eviscerate. Remy signaled the passing curvaceous waitress for another shot.

Something flittered over Bobby's face, indecisiveness or disgust Remy didn't know, before he muttered some lovey-doey lie and directed his possessive girlfriend over to an unknown destination. Remy was more than relieved to see the girl leave; he thought she never would. He closed his eyes and let the music flow over him. A frown graced his devilish face. True it was jazz, but it was forced jazz. The notes and rhythms were right, but the out of tune saxophone was just playing it. The saxophone protested to this cold, emotionless human being forcing what was once good music out of it by squeaking at inopportune moments. Remy let out a miniscule sigh. Jazz just isn't what it used to be.

Remy smelled the strangely pleasing mix of leather, smoke, and lighter fluid and heard the slap of shoelaces and sneakers dancing along on the parquet before the cocky voice cut through the comforting alcoholic haze to bounce around in his ears, "Why LeBeau, I see you've taken measures to make sure you don't have to listen to my dear friend's significant other." Remy cocked one eye open and sure enough, saw the fiery St. John Allerdyce sliding into the seat that Marie had evicted mere minutes ago. Still with one eye closed, Remy carefully drawled out, "Why mon ami, what big words. Did you practice that speech before you decided to infringe upon Remy's personal space?"

The resounding clunk of the bodacious waitress slamming down his replacement shot opened up Remy's other eye. John smirked at the skimpy outfit the girl was wearing and sweetly asked for one too. The girl just rolled her eyes and left with her ample hips swinging. The Cajun wrapped his callused fingers around the cool feel of the glass and silently whispered a prayer to whoever was up there to strike the soulless saxophone player down. John gave the waitress a cheshshire cat smile as she nearly put a dent in the already pitted table by forcefully placing the shot on the table. John slowly swirled his glass around as he stared at Remy. The Cajun saw the lust slowly infect John's glare. Remy just shrugged it off. He knew how to deal with lust. But when he focused on John again, the fire-mutant's eyes were looking across the smoky room. Remy let his eyes shift around to try and get a glimpse of what John was staring at. His calculating eyes fell upon those lanky arms around that shallow girl's shoulder. When his eyes shifted back across the table, he caught traces of bitterness and possibly, could it be, love tugging at the corners of those expressive eyes.

But those emotions had been locked away when John looked back into Remy's eyes. With a slight shrug of his leather clad shoulders, the Cajun accepted the challenge shining in John's eyes. His shrug said to John, "Sure, I'll sleep with you," and John's nodding in reply said, "Damn straight you will." What did it matter to him? The boy was attractive enough and there weren't many carefree hotties in this oppressive hell of Xavier's making. The look of bitterness etched in the fire mutants eyes tugged on his conscience, but Remy brushed it aside. Remy raised his glass and said, "Remy proposes a toast to the night."

John clinked his glass with Remy's and downed the potent liquor. As the fiery liquid burned a pathway down his throat, John coughed and shouted, "Jesus LeBeau! How can you just down that stuff?" As observant as Remy prided himself on being, he never noticed that the coughing hid the lone tear than left a sparkling trail down his face. John scrubbed the tear away with the sleeve of his jacket and placed the glass on the table as he imperceptibly whispered to himself, "Thank god for one night stands."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here is more of One Shot of Bourbon, can you feel the love?

Piercing blue eyes silently watched the scene unfold. The incoherently babbling fool who he had placed his arm around was talking to herself as she played a game involving furious pressing of buttons. A streak of white hair fluttered in front of her eyes as she ravished the flashing lights that spazzed across the screen. She was so engrossed, she didn't even notice how the protective arm that was hugging her shapely waist slowly relaxed. The only thing anchoring the blond to his date was a thumb hooked in her belt loop. He took no notice of how the spikes imbedded in the leather belt were digging into the taut flesh of his lanky arm. While his eyes were taking in the scene, his ears were blocking out all of the annoying yips the girl in his arm was making. The synthetic blaring of victory music made him reflexively tighten his hold around the pillar of flesh. The girl in his arm squeaked as the arm compressed her waist into a smaller area. She did an about-face to give those enchanting eyes a piece of her mind, but her wide, innocent-looking eyes spotting something ever so much more interesting. Given a choice between a certain chance of getting ten dollars or a 50/50 chance of getting hundred dollars, most people will immediately dive at the chance of a hundred. The mousy haired girl in his arms was no different than anyone else. Her eyes caught a much tastier prize over the shoulder of the prize she had already won. The girl twisted out of his grip and started towards the prize in the distance. Almost as an afterthought, she reached behind her and grabbed his wrist with a gloved hand and pulled him away from the sight that was absorbing all of his attention. The blue eyes iced up and a sincere smile was plastered twisting his pretty lips into an unnatural, plastic look as he dutifully followed a girl for whom affection had become an act a long time ago.

A man, standing as if attached to a bean pole, stood near the entryway with his arm possessively around the waist of the redhead beside him. The redhead was periodically scanning around the room to look for mischief among their charges. The smoke from the adult smokers near the bar obscured the already dimly lit room. The redhead could barely see a young mutant playing pool with one of the regulars. Without prying, the redhead guessed that the lithe figure with her hips at a forty-five degree angle to the floor was making a fair amount of dough off of her prey. Her gaze scoped across the room and fell upon the blond and belle over at the arcade games. She allowed a small smile to grace her serious face. They were such a cute couple. Everyone chatted over caffeinated beverages or coffee about how those two were just like her and the steel pole who was trying to be affectionate by encircling her waist. That arm, so carefully slung, seemed to be trying to protect her from some external force. The redhead became annoyed at the person next to her for assuming what he thought was going to take her away would. She rolled her eyes and wondered if she could get away from her boyfriend next to her without him accusing her of chasing after his imagined rival. The reverie was shattered as a burlesque Canadian strolled through the doors she and her partner were guarding. Smoke from the cigar dangling from the Canadian's fingers added to the haze permeating the room. If possible, the redhead felt the person next to her tense up even more. She tried to get away, but the arm around her held her fast like a bloody anchor. The redhead kept the exasperated sigh in and put a calm look on her face which made her look older than she was.

The Canadian spoke first, "Heya Cykky, I guess you decided to treat the teens," his acute eyes cut through the haze and fell on the pool table, "Ah, I see it's giving one of our young charges an opportunity to increase her pocketbook." The Canadian brought the cigar up to his chiseled face and inhaled deeply. Taking the cigar away, he let the smoke slowly exit and join its brethren already obscuring the views of everyone there. After an awkward silence in which the redhead tried to break free, the Canadian looked her partner straight in the eyes and playfully challenged, "I bet you couldn't beat me at game of pool Cykky."

Her partner curtly shook his head and said, "Jean, can you watch this door all by yourself?" The redhead nodded in response, grateful for the intervention but not showing it. Her partner strode across the room with the Canadian and disappeared into the haze. The redhead couldn't tell, but she swore she saw the Canadian give her a wink. When she could barely see their outlines, she relaxed and plopped herself down into a chair. She highly doubted that any of the mutants, even the one coming back to them from the dark side, would cause any trouble. And if anyone tried to mess with them, well, her charges could hold their own. As she was about to reach for an abandoned newspaper which lay skewed across the table, she felt a draft disturb the stagnant air. She slowly turned around as she caught sight of a figure in the doorway. As her mind was trying to process the figure standing before her, a little voice wormed its way inside her head and said, "Miss me?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I would really like to thank the person who reviewed. I realized after I posted the first two chapters that I completely forgot to include a disclaimer.

Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men, Marvel Comics, or any other associated product/corporation.

The figure that had just entered seemed to banish the smoke and exude pure light. As a husky man with a drink in one hand and a broad in the other said, she was a walking advertisement for starch and bleach. The figure closed her eyes for a second, laughed, and said, "Does your pregnant wife know that you're planning to sleep with that broad tonight?" The walking bleach advertisement walked away from the burly man who was trying, pathetically, to refute the pillar of bleach to the buxom blond next to him with failed results. The redhead was staring like she had never seen the wonders of bleach before. The bleach queen grabbed a chair with a daintily gloved hand and pulled a chair over to the redhead's grimy table. The redhead kept staring with her dainty mouth wide open like she was trying to catch flies while the platinum blond stood jauntily with one hand on the chair. A little voice penetrated the wall around her mind and while sounding like warm honey said, "Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?"

The redhead jolted out of her staring fest and spoke a little too quickly, "Erm yes, Emma, sit down." The bleach queen smiled and daintily seated herself into the rickety chair. That honeyed voice yet again invaded the redhead's mind and admonished, "Why Jean, where are your manners? You invited me to sit, you should start up conversation."

Jean, startled, said a mere one word to begin conversation, "Why?"

Emma Frost's honeyed eyes took on a dull sheen like they had been iced up. She pushed her shining platinum hair behind her quaint ear like it was burnished white gold and let her gaze wander over to the two teenage lovebirds. A quiet voice resounded in Jean's head, "You know, those two are just like you and Scott." Jean tried to mentally answer back, but here words slammed up against a massive mental wall. The redhead snorted softly and replied, "Everyone says that, it's not a revelation or anything." The bleached one's eyes slowly slid back to Jean's condescending face and locked in like a torpedo launcher. That voice, which was starting to make Jean nauseous, quietly skated back into the redhead's skull, "I know, all of you feign affection because you are too chicken to do anything contrary to precious public opinion." Saying that, the visitor stood up and disappeared in the haze which parted to her gleaming white hair and clothes.

Bobby ran to catch up with Marie's long strides as she dragged him across to the floor to the billiards tables. Upon arrival, Marie instantly hooked herself upon the Canadian's muscled arm as he was trying to hit the cue ball. Bobby's arm rested itself against the worn, grimy surface of the table's edge. When dinosaurs roamed the earth, the wood pool table probably shone with the sheen of fresh plastic McDonald's toys. Time had taken its toll and the stomach acids from dead drunk boozers barfing over the table had worn off the polish to reveal the dull wood beneath. The one advantage was that the oil from countless of fingers had mingled and soften the edge. Bobby reflected on the idea that his finger oil would mingle with the oil of countless other people. Smiling to himself, he wondered whose oil he was touching now until a sound like a bowling ball hurdling into a bag full of raw flesh reached his ear. His blue eyes scanned the people around him to see if they had heard it. His eyes brought back a negative answer as his brain assimilated the knowledge that everyone minus Bobby were engrossed in the pissing contest between the two arch-nemesises, i.e. Scott and Logan.

The blond asked in a soft voice if anyone else wanted a drink. The crowd around the pool table had their minds focused on the battle that their pink ears filed his voice away in the puny file cabinet of their memory. Seeing that his bases were covered in case anyone asked why he left, the blond walked smoothly from one pool table to the other one, way off in the haze, from which the noise had come. When he was close enough to the table to read the worn out date on the side, his taut stomach was nearly neatly skewered by a cue being held dangerously lax in the crook of the arm of an angry looking girl. A fist belonging to the girl, nicely accented with loud colored bracelets, was being shaken beneath the nose of a coarse looking individual. The individual's mouth, surrounded by coarse stubble, was piteously blubbering out that the girl must have cheated. The girl cocked an eyebrow so high that it nearly touched the rim of her cyber goggles which were acting in lieu of a headband for her lustrous blue-black hair. The raven-haired girl's fist stopped shaking and instead took a firm hold on the front of the man's greasy denim jacket. Her petite little mouth was frowning as she said, "Now, if I'm such a stupid little ditz like you mentioned earlier, how would I be able to scrap up the brains to cheat? I won the bet fair and square so pay up, or else."

The individual showed his true colors when hoisted off his heels by a vice grip on his clothes. He slowly took out an equally greasy fake leather wallet and peeled of a couple of twenty's like each one was adhered by the grease to the others in the wad. With her free hand, the raven haired girl pinched the bills with her thumb and forefinger and carefully slid them into her bra, for safekeeping. It was then that she caught a flash of spiky blond hair to her right. The sound of the grease man colliding with the floor after the hand keeping him up was removed didn't come close to overpowering the voice of the bossy female as she said, "Heyya Bobby-O, what brings you to this neck of the joint? Did that dumbass Scott send you after me to check out my doings?" Her hips, which were slanted severely towards the floor and jutting out shifted to the left side. Bobby saw her eyes wander over his firm shoulder and her petite mouth make a nice round cheereo. "Oo-wee," she began, "trouble in paradise, eh? Damn, to take second place to a smelly Canadian oaf a good six or seven years older than her. Oo-wee, you must be a really bad hugger or whatever you do with a gal you can't touch."

The blond let out a low chuckle and replied, "I guess I don't have the magic touch with others like you seem to have with our little friend down there." True enough, the greasy greaser was still in a crumpled up heap at their K-Swiss clad feet. Bobby gave him a small nudge with the tip of his scuffed up shoe. The girl shrugged, "I sure have a way with the guys, you must admit."

Bobby attempted to hold back a laugh, which made him sound like a seal with a woopie-cushion shoved down its throat. If possible, the girl raised her eyebrow even higher and considered her options if the blond exploded and made her into an ice cube. Thankfully for the girl, because her options were fairly bleak, Bobby pulled himself together and asked, "Are they still intent upon the demise of one of their teachers?"

The girl lifted her head up and came back down with an answer, "Looks like Cyclops got his ass kicked by a half-drunk Canadian. Oo-wee, looks like your sweetheart is looking for you and she looks angry. Beware Bobby-O, she may kiss ya." Her head started its journey back to its normal position when it shot up again. Her head recoiled and she said simply, "Oops, my bad, she's latched onto Logan like a leech again." Bobby swiveled his head and sure enough, Logan was leading Marie into the haze further down the room. A sympathetic look fluttered over the girls face before it disappeared to her hard demeanor. Looking towards one of the 5 garishly colored watches on her arm, she stated clearly, "Come on, we're going to get a drink, happy hour is starting in Azerbaijan."

Bobby started walking, but stopped suddenly with one foot dangling in the air. "Erm," the foot went down, "Jubes, you do realize that we are underage?" Jubes pretended like the goggles affected her hearing and took a vise grip upon his elbow. Smirking she said, "Don't worry, besides, you'll thank me later."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I would like to thank the people (no longer person) who have reviewed this ficcie. It makes me all warm and fuzzy on the inside. I won't beg for reviews and I won't spend two pages having the main characters talk to each other about how reviews make the creative process speed up. I hate it when authors do that, so now that I'm on their side, I in turn won't do that either. Sorry for that little ity bitty rant, anywho, thank you for reviewing and if you don't want to review, then don't. smile Another thing for those who bother to read the author notes, as much as I hate original characters clogging up a story, I have added one. No need to fear, he will not take over the fic and turn it into an original story with brief mention of X-Men.

I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Remy took a swig out of yet another replacement shot. His eyelids slid down his deep vermillion eyes and his surprisingly long lashes swept at his cheeks. He let go of the rigid control on his head and let it fall back. His tablemate, whose eyes where taking in the haze of the room, tried hard not to stare at the perfect curve Remy's neck made. John was falling fast like a hefty bag fill with tomato sauce being dropped from a ten-story building. To keep his mind away from the perfection in the Cajun's lean form, John slid out of the chair and sauntered into the haze, with his shoelaces dancing up a chorus.

Blunt, square fingers, belonging to a delicate feminine hand reached for a soiled rag at the end of fake-wood bar. The rebellious college student to whom the fingers belonged dejectedly blew some of his mousy brown hair dyed a brilliant turquoise out of his startling grey eyes which were covered by black spiral contacts. Yet again, the thought filtered through his nicely proportioned head to cut his hair, but yet again, he shot that idea down. His hair, while a nuisance, hid the headphones that connected to his white iPod which was decorated with demonic symbols scratched on with a bic. As the unintelligible sounds of screeching Swedes filled his ears, his blunt fingers tipped in black nail polish began to clean a slimy glass with a filthy rag. Tonight, of all nights, was a curious one. Normally, this type of place would attract bozos looking for a cheap drink. Drunks, cheaters, and dealers would stumble in, sit at a table, and then careen out of here when police sirens were heard. Though tonight, no one was coming to the bar. In fact, the people that were here dressed in what looked like clean clothes. Like many random thoughts do, his mind suddenly started thinking about what his Bostonian parents would think to see him working here. They were probably clicking their tongue right now as they used their mother-of-pearl fountain pen to write on expensive stationary a letter containing a nice, fat check. Mark, as his birth certificate read, lived for those checks which made his life so much easier to stand. The buxom waitress, who called him Spike, stumbled to the bar and in a slurred voice said, "Hey Spike! Two more bourbons!" Mark blindly reached for two classes and carelessly poured bourbon. The bourbon sloshed out of the glass as the waitress placed the shot on her stained tray. The other glass mysteriously made its way towards her lipsticked lips and was gone with in a second. The apparently drunk waitress threw Mark a sumptuous wink and haltingly staggered to the lone New Orleans native who sat with his head thrown back.

Mark was turning up the volume on his demonic iPod when a punky cyber chick and a lanky blue-eyed tall person sat themselves on barstools and asked for, out of all the horrors of the world, service. Mark paid those two who dared ask for service no mind as he rocked to his precious Swedish progressive depressing thrash death metal band. Before he could counteract such a display of evil, a bracelet covered arm reached out and cruelly ripped the earphones out of his ear. Mark gave them a sullen look; they just ruined his day. Very slowly, the earphone murderer said, "I want a Long Island ice tea and a strawberry daiquiri. You do know how to make those, right? Or must I tell you? For the ice tea, take equal parts of rum…."

Mark, doing his best zombie impersonation, whipped up a strawberry daiquiri. Before diving into the motion of making the ice tea, he took out a frosted glass for it and some of his magic medicine for the headache this presumptive chick had given him. He grabbed for some of the pills and pulled out three. As he tilted his head back to down the pills, the stupid cyber punk smacked him outside of the head. Apparently he wasn't working fast enough. His hand erred for a bit, but then, after giving her an evil glance, swallowed the pill he had in his hand. As the pill slid down while he started pouring alcohol into the frosted glass, he wondered where the other ones went. But, since he was Valedictorian at his prep school, he knew that if he only swallowed one, he must have only grabbed one.

Jubilee gave Bobby a disgusted look. "Apparently," she started off, "this guy is too high to realize which direction his head faces." Bobby raised a delicate eyebrow as she started cracking her knuckles. It seemed to Bobby that Jubilee was planning on adjusting his head so that the freaky bartender knew exactly which way his head faced. After an interlude long enough to fit a freight train through, the, erm, unique bartender pushed two glasses towards the bored teens. Jubilee, to Bobby's surprise, grabbed the strawberry daiquiri and took a deep chug. Bobby stared into the depth of what seemed to be his alcoholic beverage and said to Jubes, "Hey Jubilee, I thought you wanted the Long Island." Jubilee wiped her mouth with the back of her biker glove and replied, "Well, I figured you needed a heavy pick-me-up. Hope you enjoy it." Bobby hesitantly grabbed the drink. As he was about to take a small sip out of the drink, a thought often repeated by his roommate John at all hours, be it day or night, ran through his head. Carpe Diem, said the little John in his head. Seize the day, take a large gulp. You never know, tomorrow you may be gunned down for your mutant gift and never see the light of day again. Come on, chug chug chug. Bobby didn't try to prove this voice wrong. His girlfriend was shamelessly hitting on a muscular smoker twice her age, best friend was planning a night of fun with the mansion slut, and to add insult to injury his ears where starting to register the cacophony of shoelaces dancing near. Marie, Logan, Jubes, shoelaces, they all rushed around his head. All prodding him, all begging for a sip of elixir. Bobby caved in and took a huge gulp as the smell of lighter fluid and ash assuaged his nose…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I realize I haven't updated since, forever, but I also realize very few actually care, if any. Enjoy, leave a review if you wish, if you don't, then don't unconvenience yourself.

John came walking towards the two in all of his leather and shoelaces glory. The ever present Zippo was rhythmically clicked off and on as the cocky teen raised his arm to slap his friend on the shoulder. It was coming in for landing along the blond's broad shoulder when the blond coughed and shuddered. John stifle a laugh and said, "Whoa man, bow to my powers! I can hit him without even touching him!"

Jubilee looked slightly amused as Bobby centered his icy glare onto the fire mutant. "For your information," Bobby began, "I choked on an ice cube or something, not your amazing psionic powers."

"Whatever man," John replied and took a seat next to the two drinking companions. Jubilee's bracelets dangled as she said, "What? Long Islands aren't supposed to have ice in them."

Poor Mark, who had finally calmed down, was yet again rudely interrupted from his favorite song by the strong hand of the bracelet addict. The front of his ripped tank with a multitude of shiny safety pins was jerked forward by Jubilee as she spoke very slowly, as if the blue-haired bartender couldn't speak English, "Long…Islands…Don't.. Contain..ICE!" After this slow, deliberate speech, Jubilee flung the college student suddenly backwards into the display of filthy mugs and glasses. Mark's iPod slipped out of his back pocket and fell to the floor like a bowling ball being thrown out of the Empire State building. The look on Mark's face was like the bowling ball landed on his foot.

John whistled appreciatory at the former mall resident's up front way with dealing with people who annoyed her. Jubilee looked satisfied in her great handiwork. Bobby was looking sideways at the supine Mark like he had lobsters for ears.

Between sips of what was left of her daiquiri, Jubilee struck up conversation with John on why children of successful people end up so weird. John, who never really had a lot of money, and Jubilee, who lived in a mall, could never grasp why kids who had everything laid out for them decided to throw it all away. "Yeah," John started talking to Jubilee, "just take Bobby for example. He had a great life, a good family, and a college fund. And what does he do? He tells them he's a little mutant boy! Talk about stupid." At the end, John gesticulated towards the dazed blond. According to the unwritten script, this was the time where Bobby would butt in and begin a spiel about how his parents deserved the truth and all that jazz. John's hand dangled in the air while he waited for a response, but Bobby just sat there looking like he just got off the Mr. Freeze ride at Six Flags. Jubilee raised an eyebrow and John shook his hand in front of Bobby's vacant eyes.

John decided to resort to a surefire method, "Hey Bobby, your girlfriend is shagging Wolverine."

Jubilee's other eyebrow joined its companion at the top of her head as what normally worked to wake up Bobby failed.

Bobby heard a faint buzzing in his right ear. He turned his head slightly only saw blurred splotches of light. He swiveled his head around and couldn't find John or Jubes. Not wanting to be left at the slimy bar with Mark, or whoever he was, he tried to stand up to go search through the haze for them. In the process, his elbow hit his drink which promptly sploshed the rest of its contents into the obscured floor. His feet tried to move forward, but the just slid along the slick floor. Bobby didn't know what happened. There he was, sitting on the floor, without a clue as to how he got there. One of those fuzzy spots, he noticed, seemed to be saying something. All that Bobby's brain registered was, "Nyuaggkkyy, yaakkk kkooo?" Bobby couldn't understand, but he could smell the pungent odor of lighter fluid invaded his senses. Suddenly, Bobby was transported back to an old memory. Instinctively curling up, Bobby could've sworn that the rafters were crumbling and the fierce tongues of flame were trying to get at him. The buzzing in his hear accelerated to a high whine; like the screaming. How he hated those screams. Those screams followed him into his nightmares, into anti-mutant protests, and into every conflict. The whine increase; the flames must be getting closer. Bobby opened his eyes and saw the blurs arcing and racing towards him. His mind raced into overdrive. Not thinking, he shielded his face from his flames and lost control of his powers. He felt the refreshing cold seeping out of his hands and stopping those blurs, those splotches. Pushing himself up, he ran forward. He had to stop all the flames, his mind told him, the screaming won't go away until you do. Bobby raised his arms to stop them all, but a hand came out of nowhere and violently grabbed the nape of his neck. He felt something petal soft crash against his lips. The screaming was now an entire chorus of damned and Bobby tried to push those other lips away. They weren't what he wanted! They reeked of cigar smoke and the dust that gathers on old opera gloves. He tried hard to push them away, but they were slowly killing them. The cold, his precious cold, was slowly leaving him. He gave up and collapsed onto the floor with the screams of scores of victims stabbing his fragile mind…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Enjoy

Jubilee walked back to the bar with her messenger bag slung over on shoulder. She plopped onto a barstool and started rummaging around the duct tape covered bag. "Aha! BOOYA!" was what she said when a blow dryer popped out of the bag. With this jerking motion, the power cord popped out as well and the blunt metal tips of the plug whipped Mark right across the face. Jubilee followed the power chord with her eyes until she found where the plug had gone. Noticing that Mark had it lodged in his headphone cord, Jubilee said, "Oo-wee, there's my plug. Be a doll and put it into an outlet back there."

Mark couldn't hear her, but quickly got the picture once Jubes started waving the plug in his face. Sighing, he pushed aside some cheap plastic tumblers and blew off the dust covering the outlet. He grabbed the plug from Jubilee in mid-wave and plugged it in. Immediately, the blow dryer came to life and shot Jubilee's face with a blast of heat. Mark couldn't help himself and began laughing at the sight the tough cookie made with her hair askew. Jubilee just chucked the glass her daiquiri came in at his face and smiled at the ensuing silence. She slung her booted feet on top of the ice blob and aimed the blow dryer on high towards the head of the crazy pyromaniac trapped in the ice. Mark, bored out of his head, addressed Jubilee with, "If you are so omnipotent, why don't you use your mutant powers to defreeze him?"

Jubilee swiveled her lithe waist to her torso was facing Mark and aimed the blow dryer onto his iPod. In her usual sugary tone, she said, "iPod's are made of plastic. Blow dryers produce heat. Plastic melts. Heat melts plastic. Do all of us a favor and shut up."

They, as in Mark, Jubilee, and John, were driving back to the mansion. For reasons unknown to me, Microsoft, or the encyclopedia, Xavier's faithful stick-up-ass minion, a.k.a. Scott, completely "forgot" about Jubes and John and left them at the club. Mark, being the quirky and somewhat below par logic guy that he is, offered to give them a ride back in his new purple Mustang. John who was fuming and trying to dry off by angling himself right in front of the vent kept asking way to loud for an inside car voice, even with Danish power-goth screaming out from the speakers, "Explain to me why the little bitch didn't unfreezinate me when she had her boyfriend's powers. Will someone explain this to me?"

For the umpteenth time, Jubes assertively replied, "Because she's a little bitch?"

Out of the blue, Mark said softly, "What your friend's last name?"

"What's it to you?" Jubilee said aggressively.

Mark just tilted his head and said, "I think I know him."

John yelled out, "Why would Bobby hang around someone like you? You are way too weird for him!"

Jubilee rolled her eyes and muttered, "Have you looked in the mirror recently bimbo?"

The purple leather gave a protesting squeak as John attempted to get a better angle at the source of drying air. He would have dried himself off with his favorite lighter, but Jubilee took that one away. She also took the one hiding in his shoe, back pocket, inside hem of his jeans, and the one stashed in his inside jacket pocket. According to Jubes, it wouldn't be proper to set Mark's car on fire. John just thought it was because she was hopelessly in love with the purple monstrosity.

As the purple Mustang hit a pothole head-on, the lighters, which were innocently lying in a heap on Jubilee's lap, flew into the air. John stretched out his cold, clammy fingers to attempt to reclaim his friend, but Jubilee's elbow caught him in the nose as she was trying to recapture the lighters. Being else wise occupied with blood and all that jazz, John couldn't stop Jubes from picking up all the lighters and unceremoniously shoving them into her bra.

Over the noise of the clinking lighters contacting each other each time the car went over a bump and a screeching singing guitar playing Dane, John rose his voice and plaintively yelled out, "MARK! DO you have a KLEENEX?" Mark's crayon colored hair made a halo of sharp gelled spikes as he shook his head. Jubilee pulled something out of her sleeve and matter-of-factly said, "I have a tampon, want to use it to stop the blood?"

Jubilee cackled and Mark snorted as they heard a very girly voice go "EWWWWwwwWWW" in the back seat. Under the ever present noise the speakers were emitting, John muttered something about that explaining a lot. Giving up on all hope of a civilized way of stopping the blood, John peeled off his jacket and with difficulty pulled his plastered shirt over his head; therefore he destroyed his over-gelled hairstyle. The jacket was put on again, exposing John's fair midriff, and the shirt was hurriedly applied to his aching nose. The car made a sharp turn, slamming John against the window, as Jubilee with her jangling arm pointed out that he, Mark, was about to miss the turn.

Mark whistled appreciatively at the manor as he braked abruptly in front of it. Jubilee opened the door and slid out, thanking Mark along the way, as gracefully as any person with little rectangles showing through her shirt. Halfway up the stairs, she noticed that she was forgetting something and went back down to the slowly moving purple car and opened the passenger rear door. Formerly plastered to the once spotless glass, John tumbled out of the car and imbedded his face with small pieces of gravel. Jubilee reached into the front seat and grabbed her duct tape sporting bag and slung it onto her shoulder. With her hips jutting out more than usual with a godly amount of weight on one side, she dragged the clammy, abused, and bleeding pyro to his feet. The purple Mustang sped off as a block of light from a now open door framed the two forgotten mutants. Looking into the light, both of them groaned as the stiff frame of Mr. Stick-Up-Posterior appeared in the open doorway.

"Oo-wee," Jubilee whistled, "You are so screwed."

John propped himself on one arm with his other arm still holding his once virgin white t-shirt (except for the occasional burn) now covered in blood splotches up to his nose. Giving Jubilee a look that if he didn't need his lighters to toast objects would have definitely have made Jubes go up in flames, he asked as dangerously as a guy on the ground with gravel in his disheveled hair can, "What do you mean, _I_ am so screwed?"


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Today is one of _favorite days _of the _entire_ year. I even composed a little ditty, to the tune of "On top of old smokey" to commemorate the occasion.

"On top of old smokey, all covered in blood

I killed my ex-boyfriend, and ripped out his lung."

I personally think its beautiful.

Jubilee wisely didn't reply as Scott's stiff figure militarily descended the steps and stood before them. Looking at a spot over their heads, Scott Summers monotonously stated, "You are late."

"Thanks for bringing us along," Jubilee said with each word dripping, like water dripping off John, with rich sarcasm.

A muffled, "Yeah thanks a lot asshole," was heard from behind the bloody t-shirt.

Scott merely said, "I did not realize that you were in the establishment. I never expected to find, _minors_, at the bar which was told to you both before you went that it was off-limits."

Jubilee rolled her eyes while John attempted to flip Scott off. But without that flipping off arm supporting his weight, he yet again fell to the gravel. Scott didn't even move and flatly said, "You both are banned from all extra-curricular activities. Do not even think of complaining to Xavier, he approved of it."

Scott did an about face and marched back into the manor, leaving Jubilee and John yet again. John groaned; Jubilee kicked him and said, "Shut up, at least he didn't take your lighters." Scott stopped and said, with thinly veiled cruelty, "Oh, by extra-curricular activities I also meant your powers, unless they are needed for class, of course. Which means, cough up your lighters John."

Scott walked back and looked down upon John's head with his hand held out. John shook his head in reply. Scott, looking displeased said, "Come with me, apparently Xavier and I must think of a more suitable punishment for you." With that, John was dragged to his feet and shephered into the building, leaving Jubilee outside alone. Re-adjusting her messenger bag, she slipped into the building after those two and hurried to her room.

The sound of shuffled papers was the first thing John heard as he was pushed through the door and placed, not too nicely, on a shiny horsehair chair. The soft glow from the overhead lights was reflected by the multitude of shiny objects in the office. The light hit John square in the eyes as Xavier's head moved up away from the files. Now the only sound in the room was John's raspy breath going in and out of his slightly open mouth. Xavier's penetrating stare seemed to look right into his soul. If it wasn't for the ominous shadow of Scott silently breathing down his neck, John would have chuckled; for all he knew Xavier was reading his soul. The annoying voice in his head said, or mind brilliant, as John mulled this over. Scott was the first to open his ever politically correct mouth and said, "John refuses to hand over his lighters."

John took his gravel pitted hand attempted to smooth over his hair. "Well Scott," John's muffled voice cam from behind the shirt, "if you had deigned to hear me out you would have learned that I do not have them on me."

Scott's voiced said loudly, "I can not believe that a pyro would be caught without the tools of his, trade. Apparently, being here has taught you nothing of honesty."

Xavier closed his eyes for a while and said with a slight smirk, "But apparently our school has taught him something. I do not think that the former Mr. Allerdyce would have used such an advanced word as 'deigned'.

John, as if to prove something, nodded his head violently in response. First, the blood went down his throat, making him cough like an emphysema patient. Secondly, his head collided with Scott's washboard abs and elicited a simply murderous stare from the recipient. What wasn't conveyed by the covered up eyes was conveyed even better by the hardening of the slight muscles on his jar.

Inbetween violent coughs and spazzes, John managed to mutter out an apology or two. Xavier chuckled and said to Scott, "We can talk about this some other time. It does not sound to me like Mr. Allerdyce here is capable of reasoning. Please escort him to Beast to check into that nose."

John knew a bruise was forming on that part of his arm that kept being jerked up in order to lead him around.

Half hidden in the shadows, two piercing red eyes looked down over the railing to get a better look at the blood splattered shirtless boy being jerked along by Scott. Doing a Cher hair flick, Remy displaced some annoying brown bangs which were interfering with his looking enjoyment. It wasn't everyday that that delicious morsel of hot boy went around shirtless and with blood to boot! Remy snorted softly (for it wasn't dignified for the amazing Remy LeBeau to snort) as John kept moving forward while Scott, with a vise grip on John's upper arm, made a sharp turn. Mostly with Scott's intervention, John managed to go in the right direction and disappeared from Remy's view. Curious as to where they were going and also to get a better look at John's torso, Remy looked for a way to get down from where he was. Completely ignoring the stairs, Remy grabbed a nearby stick from the room to the left being renovated and placed it perpendicularly on the balustrade of the grand staircase. With a hip flick that would make any kayaker proud, Remy contorted his body in such a way that he was grinding on a stick down the balustrade with a horrible screech from the metal stick contacting the varnish of the railing. Not quite noticing the end until he found himself flying off, Remy pushed the stick against the floor for anchoring as he did a basic flip and landed on his feet with a big "whoomph" sound.

Scott did an abrupt turn, nearly dislocating John's arm, to see what was making such a noise at this time of night. Making an inward bet with himself that it was Gambit, who Scott believed was part bat for his nocturnal nature, he faced Remy and the railing. One part was congratulating himself on a great guess while the other was staring stupidly at the nice wood balustrade with a big gash running down it. John used the time that Scott spent with his jaw on the floor to pry Scott's titanium fingers off of his poor abused flesh. Picking up his bloody t-shirt off the floor where it had fallen, he looked to see if Scott was paying him any mind. John could've sworn he saw Remy wink at him before Remy sauntered up to Scott and ask him if he liked what he saw. Realizing what Remy was doing, John quietly scurried down the hallway into the shadows.

Scott's eyes were torn off the railing as Remy's million dollar smile advance upon him. Scott chillily stated, "It is past curfew." Remy just spinned on his heel and stopped himself with a hand on Scott's bone-hard shoulder with a wink. Remy wiggled his eyebrows and said softly, "I have a secret."

Scott was in no mood for Remy-bat's antics. He turned to grab the delinquent's putty-like arm, but only found empty air. He turned angrily to Remy and amazingly spoke through clenched teeth, "Where did he go..to..?"

Remy pulled out a worn deck of cards from one of his numerous inner pockets of his duster and started shuffling the deck. His red eyes looked straight into Scott's like drills and Remy's face inched closer and closer. When a mere millimeter kept their noses from touching, Remy softly said, "Ok, ok, I'll tell you, but you have to say please."

Scott's back hurt and he really just wanted to let open a can of whoop-ass onto a certain 'rebel' mutant's flesh, but he still had his pride. Not even opening his mouth he barely murmured, "Lese"

Remy's soft mouth moved slowly, so Scott's eyes could follow it, right over to Scott's ears and seductively whispered, "Ah, say it, say it."

"Please," was the short word that Scott said, finally.

"Oky-doky!" Remy said as he did a backflip, barely missing Scott's face with his feet. Landing firmly on his feet he pointed down the hallway where John has disappeared down and said, "He went that way."

Scott snorted, he was a smart guy. Knowing Remy, and knowing John, Remy would probably try to direct Scott in the opposite direction just so he could laugh at him. But Scott, being the brilliant person that he was, figured all this out in just a mere second and started going down the hallway behind Remy. Remy scratched his head and called out to Scott, "But gov'ner, he went down that hallway."

Scott pretended not to hear.

Remy waited until Scott had turned a corner so he was out of Scott's field of vision before lightly stepping down the hallway after John.


End file.
